


american scandal

by Murf1307



Category: DCU (Comics), New 52 - Fandom, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Former Enemies With Benefits, Friends With Benefits, Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, School Reunion, Secret Relationship, Trans Lex Luthor, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: Sequel to “a casual affair.”  They’ve been having sex for months now, and Clark can’t help the feelings that have developed, but he also can’t bring himself to broach the subject with Lex.  After all, no matter what, their relationship is too complicated to be anything but secret.





	american scandal

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I wasn’t expecting this to turn out this way. Much longer than anticipated, but I hope y’all have a good time with it. It’s set in New 52, sort of, if New 52 hadn’t ended like it had.

 

 

_“Don’t tell me the world couldn’t handle  
a good old-fashioned American scandal...”_

— “American Scandal” by Ashley McBryde

 

* * *

 

Clark knows exactly when people start to suspect something.  It's silly, and he shouldn't care, but he's keeping an eye on the celebrity gossip websites anyway, on the lookout.

The _Inquisitor_ breaks the story, a speculative piece detailing his — well, _Superman_ and Lex’s tempestuous history, and how things have changed now that Lex is a member of the Justice League.  Why are they suddenly so friendly? Why did Lex hate him so much in the first place?

They don't have anything _real_ to go on, of course, besides, ironically, the night something _did_ happen.  Valentine’s Day.

He'd seen Lex’s empty suit fly by and followed it, wanting to be sure Lex could handle whatever had him summoning the suit.  And when he'd seen the man in danger, well, he just had to act. He'd do the same for anyone else.

That doesn't change the fact that Lex is _different_ and always has been, from their teenage years onward, of course.

It also doesn't change the fact that the next morning, Clark woke to an empty bed and a vague note, apologizing for disappearing, signed with a familiar cursive _L.L._

The hotel room was paid for, it said, through _today and tonight_ , and Clark had wondered if Lex was implying that he should stay.  

And from there, it had all sort of spun out of control.

 

* * *

 

He knows he should be more careful with this.  Lex is what he is, and while he wants to believe that people can change, there are parts of Clark that don’t _want_ him to.

Something in him _likes_ Lex’s arrogance, his self-centeredness.

It feels good, he thinks, to have Lex’s attention.

Presently, he sighs, tabbing away from the _Inquisitor_ article and back to the story he’s supposed to be working on: an investigative piece on a corporate espionage ring infiltrating major companies in Metropolis and the surrounding suburbs.

Lois is out collecting witness statements, and he trusts her to know who to call if things if things go south.

He’ll hear her.  He always does.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re _doing_ this,” Lois says, poking him hard in the chest.  “You know him better than anyone; how can you think this is a good idea?”

Clark sighs.  “It’s not a good idea, and I _know_ that.”

“Then _why_?!”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t know. I guess — it feels good?”  He steps back from her. “Maybe it’s familiarity, I don’t know.”

She shakes her head, too.  “You’re a good man, Clark, and I trust you, but I don’t trust him _with_ you.”  She’s looking at him like she’s disappointed in him, and he supposes he deserves that.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises her.  

“You better,” she says.  “Or I _swear_ I will _tell Batman_.”

 

* * *

 

Lois doesn’t tell Bruce — thank God — but Clark isn’t sure he’s exactly _careful_ about this, anyway.

But if he’s not being careful, Lex is being downright _reckless._

Like right now, at one of Lex’s charity galas, this one at the Metropolis Museum of the Sciences.  Lex has led him off to another room in the museum, on a pretence of showing him another exhibit, but they both know better.

As soon as they’re alone, Lex is pushing at his chest, and Clark moves with the shove, backing into the wall.

Lex’s mouth is on his as soon as he’s against the wall, one of Lex’s hands immediately tangling in his hair.  It’s a bad idea to do this here, but they’ve never been too great at good ideas when it comes to things like this.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Clark manages when Lex comes up for air.

“We shouldn’t be doing this at all,” Lex counters, and dives right back in.

Neither of them are particularly reasonable with their tongues in each other’s mouths, and Clark settles into the push and pull of it, the way Lex’s fingers tighten on the back of his neck, his own fingers bruising Lex’s hips.

He _wants_ , and he’s not sure he’s ever wanted someone quite like he wants Lex.  It might not be more or less than he’s wanted anyone else, but it’s _different._

He wants Lex the way the corn wants the rain, the way sunflowers turn to follow the sun.  Lex against him is steady as the weather, and even that is an illusion, because if Lex is the weather, then he’s the storm and the flood, too.

Clark isn’t a poet, but here, under Lex’s hands and his devouring mouth, he is only capable of poetry.

 

* * *

 

“Do you remember,” Clark asks, one night, after they’ve finished, “In senior year, right before graduation, you showed up at my parents’ place and begged me to shave your head?”

They’re both reclined on a luxury hotel room bed, and Clark is counting the divots in the textured ceiling to try and push away this feeling he’s feeling.

Lex makes a soft noise.  “Of course. And you did it.”

Clark nods.  “Do you still…?”

“Electrolysis.  It's not going to grow back.” Lex moves, shifting onto his side.  Clark can feel his eyes on him.

Something feels strange about this moment, almost surreal.  Clark is too aware of himself under Lex’s gaze, a light flush warming his cheeks as he tries not to let anything show.  Lex has always been impossibly good at picking him apart — at least, when it comes to the things that actually matter.

Both of them are waiting, it seems, for the other to do something irrevocable.  

Clark doesn’t do anything, just looks up at the ceiling and waits for Lex to act.  Lex is good at starting things, at taking initiative when Clark is too nervous to.

But here, now, Lex doesn’t make a move, either, and Clark wonders why.

 

* * *

 

 

They always spend nights together in hotel rooms.

Clark supposes that that means they don’t really trust each other — at least, not enough to bring each other home.  

Lex also always pays the tab.  Clark doesn’t give him trouble about it; as much as it wakes old monetary insecurities to let him pay for things, he knows that he just _doesn’t_ have the money to pay for all these hotel rooms himself.  If Lex wants to do this, well, Clark’s just going to have to let him.

Once he recognizes that they’ve only spent the night in hotel rooms, though, he can’t get the idea out of his head.  It tugs at his thoughts whenever he has a free moment.

 _Does_ he trust Lex?  Should he? He thinks he wants to.

The thought even distracts him in the middle of a fight, during an alien invasion.  Lex is a streak of red and blue nearby, slicing his way through the melee. He catches Clark’s gaze, and the thought hits him: _You trust him to watch your back, here, you know_.

It’s a distraction with a price; he gets hit hard in the chest, his whole body knocked backward a distance.  His back connects with a flabby alien tentacle, and when he tries to fly out of its grasp, he can’t, his cape trapping him.  He pulls harder, the tentacle reacting by dipping down and trying to wrap around his throat. All around, it’s a bad situation, and he knows it’s entirely his fault.

Then, Lex divebombs from above, an unusually large laser gun assembling from his armor’s right arm.  Clark jerks toward the right, and the tentacle severs, spasming before going limp.

He gets loose, and can’t help himself; he grins up at Lex, who is hovering, as if he’s waiting to be sure Clark’s out of this jam.

They lock eyes.  Lex nods, smirking just a little, and rockets upward to find the head of the alien he just maimed.

The fight goes on, and Clark can’t help the warmth suffusing his chest.

 

* * *

 

Things go wrong later in the battle, and when it’s over, Clark finds himself lifting Lex against his shoulder.  

“I can make it back —“ Lex insists, but when he coughs, blood drips from the corner of his mouth, and his face twists up in pain.  The front of his suit is a mess of jagged edges, and Clark can _see_ the broken ribs when he looks at him with his X-Ray vision.

“No, I’m not letting you fly like this,” Clark insists, and carefully starts toward Lex’s penthouse at the top of the LexCorp Tower.  “You’ve probably got a pulmonary contusion, and you definitely have a couple of broken ribs.” He gives Lex a disappointed look. “Please don’t do things like that.”

Lex spits blood into the air below them.  “Don’t start.” There’s an ugly twist to his expression, and Clark isn’t sure why.

“Thank you, by the way, for that hand earlier.”  Clark decides not to address whatever it is that’s making Lex act like that — sometimes, even when they were teenagers, kindness only enraged Lex, so he knows better than to push too hard.

“You were distracted,” Lex says, glaring at him.  “And I couldn’t exactly let it have you.”

They’ve had about a dozen conversations like this since Lex decided he wanted to be a hero.  It’s safe, it’s familiar, and Clark, knowing his part in it, just sighs magnanimously. “Well, I suppose.”

Very soon, they make it to Lex’s place, and without a word, Lex unlocks and opens a pane of glass from the window with the push of a button in the wrist of his suit.  Clark passes into the penthouse, but instead of landing, he hovers through the apartment until he reaches the master bedroom — at least, he’s pretty sure that’s where they are.  

“I’m guessing you have a personal physician?” Clark asks, finally touching down next to Lex’s bed.  

“Yes,” Lex says, and his tone is biting.  “You can go, now.”

It stings, but Clark just nods.  “Of course.” Then, he bites his lip, shaking his head.  “Wait, do you need help getting out of that?”

“I’m _fine_.”

Clark nods again, and slips out of the bedroom.  

When he reaches the main living space of the penthouse, an open floor plan stretching from one side of the building to the other, he finds Mercy Graves sitting, her legs crossed, on a stool at a bar near to, but not inside, the nearby, almost ostentatious kitchen.

She measures him with her eyes.  “Is he in one piece?”

“Yes,” Clark assures her.  “And, uh, not happy I brought him home.”

“He’s like that,” she says, mirroring his tone.  She’s a good-looking woman, tall and lean, and Clark is pretty sure that her prosthetic arm probably has several other, more deadly configurations than the slim metal fingers she’s currently curving around a glass of ice water.

He nods at her.  “Uh. You should probably call his doctor.”  He doesn’t know what she knows about his and Lex’s _thing_.

“If you want to wait until she gets here, Lex probably won’t notice,” she says.

His chest tightens a little, but he nods.  “Thanks.”

He approaches the bar and sits down next to her, an empty stool between them.  She lifts her prosthetic wrist and presses down, and a touchscreen appears on a small panel of glass.  A few swipes and presses later, she turns the screen off, and turns back to him. “You haven’t been here since he decided to join the League,” she points out.

It’s true.  He’d been to Lex’s penthouse a couple of times while they were enemies, but not since.

“I suppose,” he says.  “I figure it’s up to him, who he lets into his home.”

She chuckles, once, lips twitching.  “It is. That said, I do have the keys.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.  “What are you saying?”

“Mr. El,” she says, her voice dry, “I’ve been working for Lex for years.  I know when he wants something almost before he does, by now.” She flicks her wrist, and a hologram of a phone number hovers above the metal.  “This is my direct line. If you need it.”

“You mean —“ he cuts himself off, because of _course_ she means it.  This is Mercy, Lex’s personal assistant and bodyguard.  He remembers when Mercy _got_ that prosthetic, after an explosion that had almost killed both her and Lex.  If she’s offering him a direct line to her, saying things like that, he knows exactly what she means.

It’s just hard to fathom that Lex would _want_ him here.

He nods, memorizing the number.  She smirks, just a little, and flicks her wrist again, putting it out.

After a moment of silence, he asks, “Does he...talk about me?”

“Mr. El,” she repeats, like she’s talking to a child, “he _always_ talks about you.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” Clark says, standing naked in another hotel room, two weeks later, “I got an invitation for our 15-year reunion.”

Lex is laid out on the bed, the bruises on his chest faded to green.  A new scar cuts across them, and Clark hasn't been sure how to touch him like this.  He wants to, but god, he doesn't want to hurt him. “Is that this year?”

Clark nods, biting his lip for a moment.  “You were under house arrest for our tenth.”

“I still wouldn't have gone.”

Clark exhales.  

But Lex speaks again, before Clark can. “But.  If you’re going this year…”

It surprises him, but he nods.  “I usually do. So. I’ll be there, if you decide to go.”  He moves toward the bed, not sure if this is supposed to mean something.  Part of him wants to ask why, but he won’t, because everything feels...unstable.

Lex watches him, measuring, like he always does.  “I might.”

He reaches the bed and sits down next to Lex.  “Have you been back to Smallville, at all, since school?”

“No.”  Lex looks away from him.  “What reason would I have to go back?”

Clark shrugs.  “You are, technically speaking, the most famous person to graduate our high school,” he points out.  

Lex huffs a little.  “Would they be willing to accept that?”

“You used to do unacceptable things out of spite,” Clark reminds him, smiling just a little.  “Do I have to remind you about the bake sale?”

Lex looks at him askance.  “That wasn’t spite, that was just to see if I could.”

“Okay.”  He very much wants to touch Lex now, but, again, he’s not sure how to go about it, amidst this conversation and looking at those bruises.  “But…”

“But what?”

“I seem to remember you enjoying rubbing your successes in people’s faces,” he says, carefully.  “Wouldn’t this be a great chance to do that?”

Lex twists and _stares_ at him.  “Are you suggesting that I attend our reunion just to force people to think about how I’m part of the Justice League, and a billionaire, now?”  He raises both eyebrows. “That’s very unlike you, Clark.”

“But it would be very like _you_.”

“...Fair point,” Lex admits, and it's clear he's trying to repress a smile.

Clark grins a little, and leans in to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

Clark’s not sure if Lex is coming to the reunion.  They don’t talk about it after than night, and so, a few weeks later, Clark is back in Smallville, moving things around for his mother.

He hears the car coming up the long drive, and recognizes the purr it makes, and above it, the familiar cadence of Lex Luthor’s heart.  

Biting back a smile, he turns around to lean against the doorframe to the barn, arms crossed over his chest.  His glasses are in the house; people here see what they expect to see, after all. And all anyone’s expecting of him, here, is Clark Kent, small-town farm boy who left for city lights and never comes home but for things like this.

Lex slows to a stop, letting the engine idle, though he doesn’t put the long, silver convertible into park.  “Kent,” he says, his voice crisp and his eyes inscrutable behind his dark sunglasses.

“Lex,” he replies, the edges of his mouth pulling into a wry smile.  “Good to see you.”

That he says it seems to surprise Lex, though surely he knows by now that Clark really _does_ like it when he’s around.  The man’s a genius, after all.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Lex asks, instead of responding to what he says.  

“Hm, maybe,” he says, and it feels...it feels _right_ to be able to say things like that to Lex again, as he’s realizing that maybe this thing — Lex being on the side of good — might last.

Lex tips his chin down so he can look Clark square in the eye.  “I don’t think so,” he says, and his green eyes are so _sure_ that Clark can’t help it.

He caves.

He moves over to the car, still idling.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing in particular,” Lex says, in that calculated way he has of saying things like that.

Clark chuckles.  “All right. Mind if I join you?”

Lex looks at him wryly.  “What do you think, Kent?”

And that’s all the encouragement he needs.

 

* * *

 

It’s a few hours later, in the red and gold of a setting Kansas sun, that Clark realizes he might have gone and fallen in love with Lex all over again.

He hadn’t been sure, in high school, because there were so many things neither of them knew at the time, but he’s sure of it now.  Right now, in the midst of a cornfield Lex bought last week for this express purpose, both of them naked and stretched out on seats that go all the way flat.

Clark’s pretty sure Lex had the _car_ specially made for something like this, and he doesn’t know quite what to do with that.

But Lex is on his back, and sweat is pooling in the divot of his collarbone, and Clark has realized that he loves him.

He wants to say it.  It would be the perfect time, back home where their story began.

He won’t, though, because there are too many things that he knows, this time.  Too many certainties; there are only a few possibilities, and while Clark is pretty sure he could handle all of them, the one he wants the most wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

So, instead, he rolls over, slinging an arm around Lex’s waist.  “Where are you staying?” He asks, fairly certain there aren’t any places in Smallville that would suit Lex’s usual style.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Lex says.

“Huh.”  Clark shrugs a little.  He can’t speak for his mother, can’t invite Lex over like they really are kids again.  Too many things are different now for that kind of nostalgia to work out at all.

“Mercy will likely have figured something out by the time I get back to the town center.”  Lex sighs. “I suppose we shouldn’t act like we’re familiar.”

“What, at the reunion?”  Clark raises his eyebrows.

Lex sighs again.  “Yes, at the reunion.  Realistically, we should avoid each other entirely.”  

Clark can hear it in his voice that Lex doesn’t want to, and shit, that feels like it ought to mean something.  Lex _wants_ to spend time with him, in public, where people will know a certain part of their history.

“It’s up to you,” he says, quietly.  “But. Depending on how _familiar_ you want to be with Superman, we may have to make some choices.”

He knows what he’s implying: _If we’re going to be out here, we can’t be out in Metropolis_ .  Or, at the very least, _Superman_ can’t be.  Lex has never hid anything in his adult life, and weathered every storm about his gender and sexuality with wit and dignity.

Lex waits for a moment, but he turns over, leaning over Clark.  “If I’m here to gloat,” he says, his fingertips tipping Clark’s chin up, “I want Clark Kent on my arm.”

Clark doesn't know what to say to that.  So he nods. “Okay.” He exhales. “Then we’ll do that.”

Lex kisses him, and he stops thinking about it.

 

* * *

 

“So, Lex Luthor, hm?” Ma asks, looking at him from over her reading glasses.

Clark flushes.  “It’s not — we’re not _dating_.”

Ma chuckles.  “You weren't dating in high school, either, but you didn't let that stop you then.”

“Ma!”  His blush intensifies.

“He was a good boy.  I was always disappointed that he went the way he did,” Ma says, her hands dancing over her needlepoint.  “But he seems to have turned a corner, which is good.”

Clark smiles a little.  “You’re a lot more willing to give him a second chance than Pa would be, if he were here.”

Ma chuckles again.  “Your Pa spent most of your high school years terrified Lex was going to lead you into making a mistake that would change your futures.  Even after he informed us he was not a girl.”

“Well,” Clark says, shaking his head.  “I guess that makes sense.”

Ma and Pa had woken up the morning after the head-shaving incident to the two of them asleep on the couch, and there had been some questions, and Lex had been adversarial, and Ma had tried to get through to him that it was fine.

“That said,” she says, her eyebrows raised, “You’re still being careful, aren’t you?”

“ _Ma_!”

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t see Lex until the next day, before the reunion.  He’s fiddling with his tie, debating going without. It’s not really _formal_ , not by the standards he’s gotten used to in Metropolis, but he doesn’t know what Lex is going to do.

The purr of the Porsche draws his attention, and he really should’ve expected Lex would just _show up_.  

Ma is out of the house before he is, and by the time he gets downstairs, she’s in conversation with him: “I have to say, Lex, you certainly have grown.”

“Hormones will do that,” he says, and he looks a little out of his depth.

Clark laughs a little, walking up to them.  “Ma, stop, you’re embarrassing him.”

Ma grins.  “He could do with a little, given how high-falutin’ he’s living now,” she says, and her voice is fond.  “Remember, Smallville’s still in your bones, boy, no matter how far you go out into the world.”

Lex nods.  “I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. Kent.”

“Now, boys, you two have some fun,” she says, and her smile goes mischievous.  “And I’ll pretend I don’t notice if Clark doesn’t come home tonight.”

“Ma!” Clark says, turning bright read again.

Lex laughs.  “Thank you, Mrs. Kent.”  

 

* * *

 

“So, are you ready?” Clark asks, as they park in the high school parking lot.

Lex smirks a little.  “Obviously,” he says. “It can’t be more awkward than talking to your mother.”

“She likes you,” Clark says, with a little bit of a smile.  “She always did.”

Lex shakes his head.  “I never quite understood that.  Still don’t.” He shrugs one shoulder and turns off the car.  “But, that’s neither here nor there.”

It occurs to Clark that they’ve crossed a line, now.  He’s not entirely sure what that line is, only that they’ve crossed it here, in Smallville, back where everything began.  Because of course, it had to be here.

Lex is even wearing the same colors he wore to prom all those years ago.  The suit is black, but button-down underneath is the same shade of burgundy as his prom dress.  No one who remembers them will miss that significance, and Clark feels a fierce little flare of pride.

“Mister Kent?” Lex asks, opening the driver’s side door.  “Shall we?”

“Yes, Mister Luthor,” he says, and exits the car with a smile.  “I do believe we shall.”

Clark extends his hand in offering.  He doesn’t know how Lex wants to play this, only that he’s willing to follow Lex’s lead.

Things like this will _never_ be as fraught for him as they are for Lex, after all.

Lex takes his hand, and the offered lead, and together, they enter the building.  One of their high school classmates, Claudine, is seated by the door, and raises her eyebrows when she sees them.

“Clark?” She says, and unsettled, adds, “Lex Luthor, right?”

“Yes,” Lex says.  “Did my donation arrive?”

She nods, blinking rapidly.  “We honestly didn’t think you’d actually come,” she admits.

“Well, he’s here,” Clark said.  “So, uh, just mark us down, and we’ll go inside?”

Lex raises an eyebrow at him, and the whole situation is just so familiar that the awkwardness Clark feels is its own kind of relief.

 

Inside, they’re still walking hand-in-hand, and Clark can feel people’s eyes on them.  Lex leads him over to a large metal ice basin full of bottles of high-end alcohols — predominantly champagne, but with scotch, vodka, and brandy all in evidence.

“Pick your poison,” Lex says, with a customary smirk.  

Clark laughs, just a little, and rolls his eyes.  “You donated alcohol. Of course you did.” He picks a bottle of champagne.  “This is what we were drinking, isn’t it?”

Lex’s smirk widens, just a little.  “Yes, you did quite like the Moët.”

“I guess I did, if that’s this,” he hedges, smirking a little himself.  He can’t get drunk on one bottle, but he can certainly enjoy it. He takes a pair of champagne flutes — plastic, either an ironic joke on Lex’s part or a panicked last-minute buy by reunion committee, which, in and of itself, might be the joke — and moves toward an empty table.  

He has a feeling Lex will be holding court before long.  He always does.

 

* * *

 

“So you finally came back to Smallville, huh?”

Clark doesn’t _quite_ recognize the voice, but the face is one of the boys on the football team, fifteen years later.  He’s one of the ones who always gave Lex problems.

For just a second, teenaged fear runs through him.

Then, Lex laughs, taking a sip of the champagne they’re still drinking.  “Yes. Clark convinced me it might be worthwhile.”

An ugly scowl twists the guy’s face.  “Fuckin’ faggots.”

It’s clear he’s drunk.  Lex’s eyes narrow, and he, with almost surgical precision, splashes his entire flute of champagne onto the other man’s shirt and face.  Otherwise, Lex remains at ease, draped over the cheap folding chair like he belongs here.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the guy — how is it that Clark can’t remember his name? — hisses.  “You piece of shit!”

Claudine, bless her, is already on her way over to deal with the situation.  “Louie,” she says, taking the man’s shoulders, “Lou, honey, that’s not — of course you’re drunk.  Come on, you’re going home.”

Anyone who’s noticed — meaning, well, everyone, since only about thirty people of their one-hundred-person-strong graduating class are in attendance — has started staring, just a little.  Clark itches under their scrutiny, but Lex seems to revel in it as Louis and Claudine exit the gym. He pours himself another flute of champagne and crosses his legs.

Clark, awkwardly, gets up to go get some of the quiche that Mary Lenzig donated, because he’s not sure how to deal with all the eyes.

When he gets back, Lex gives him a lazy smile.  “At least it’s ‘faggot’ now, and not ‘cunt,’” he says, dryly.

It’s the kind of macabre humor that Clark never knows what to do with.  He reaches out, taking one of Lex’s hands. Part of him wants to leave, wants to walk through the Kansas night until they find somewhere to be alone together.

The world is so much simpler when they’re alone together.

Lex squeezes his hand almost daintily.  He’s enjoying himself, Clark can tell.

Clark exhales, and tries to settle in for a long night.

 

* * *

 

Lex decides he’s finished with the party a little bit before midnight, and the two of them find their way outside.  Clark isn’t drunk, but he wishes he was. Instead, sober, he presses Lex against the brick wall of the school building, and presses their mouths together.  

They’ve had better times, he guesses, but it feels _different_ , here.  Despite everything, he’s less nervous about doing this now than he ever was as a kid.

“Someone’s eager,” Lex says, but there’s a catch in his voice.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Never.”

 

* * *

 

Coming back to Metropolis, Clark doesn't expect anything to change.  There's a disconnect, in his head, between Smallville and Metropolis that it never occurs to him to surmount.

But then he walks into the Daily Planet on Monday morning.

Some people freeze and stare; some people are studiously ignoring him.  But there's a tension in the room he's not used to feeling.

He goes to sit at his desk and finds a stack of printouts from about a dozen different entertainment gossip sites, as well as social media.  The kicker, though, is the top page:

A grainy cell phone picture of him and Lex kissing in the dark after the reunion.

Well, shit.

He sighs, and puts the stack of papers in a drawer.

He and Lex are going to have to have a talk about this, because obviously this is bigger than the two of them, now.

Two hours later, he hears the familiar clicking of Lois's heels on the linoleum, headed straight for him.  She sounds mad, even just from her gait, and he is _not_ looking forward to this.

“Kent!” she says, loud enough to make it everybody's business.  “Breakroom, now.”

He exhales in a _whoosh_ of air, and gets up, following Lois into the breakroom and closing the door behind them.

She _is_ mad, her arms crossed across her chest.  “What the _hell_ , Clark?!”

“All I did was ask if he was going to the reunion, and, well, one thing lead to another.” He flushed.  “It's — it's not that complicated.”

Lois blinks.  “Oh my god. It's worse than I thought.  You're _in love with him.”_

“Yeah,” he admits, quietly. “I haven't told him, but.  Yeah.”

She shakes her head.  “And he knows everything, so you're — damnit, Clark.  I told you, you're playing with fire, here. He may be playing hero to feed his ego, but you _know_ he's going to turn on you someday, don't you?”

“I know.  I knew that going in.” He looks down.  “But. I guess it happened anyway.”

Lois clicks her way over to him, her hands landing on his shoulders.  “You know I'm just worried about you, right? You're my friend, and sooner or later, he's going to hurt you.”

He knows. He really does.  But part of him can’t get it out of his head, the way Lex finally _relaxes_ when they’re together.  It’s nothing he can tell Lois about, though, so he just sighs.  “I’ll try and break things off,” he says, disappointed. But she’s right.  She always is.

He just hopes it doesn’t ruin everything.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t need to seek Lex out, it turns out, because as soon as he steps outside the Daily Planet, he’s stopped by Mercy.  “Mr. Kent,” she says, a little mischief in her eyes. “If you would come with me, Mr. Luthor wants to see you.”

“Okay,” he says, a little guardedly.  

She leads him to, of all things, a Rolls Royce.  It’s a little less sleek than the kinds of cars Lex usually favors; something he’d more expect to find in Bruce’s garage, if he’s honest.

He wonders if Lex is trying to say something.  Lex almost always is.

Clark just doesn’t speak this language.

He gets in the car, and Mercy gets in the driver’s seat.  As they pull away, she says, “Lex is...concerned.”

“Oh?” Clark is, too, now.

“He thinks you’re going to back out, now that things are public.”  Her voice is even, unruffled, but he can practically feel the disapproval radiating off of her.

Clark frowns, immediately feeling guilty.  Wasn’t he planning on doing just that?

He takes a deep breath.  “I...it’s — is this supposed to impress me?” He just wishes he understood, sometimes, the way Lex operates.

“Now that your...relationship...is public, there are certain things the world will expect,” she explains.  “Things like this. If you plan to keep him, I mean.”

It’s strange, to him, that she puts it that way.  “Keep him?”

“Yes.”  She sighs.  “I shouldn’t tell you this, but he’s spent the entire day trying to figure out which people are responsible for those photos getting out there.  His attorneys are already filing suits for invasion of privacy.”

“Really?” That strikes Clark as strange.  Lex has never been the type to hide this kind of thing, once it’s out in the open.

Mercy nods.  “It seems clear to me that he’s concerned for your privacy specifically, Mister Kent.”  Clark can see her smiling, just a little, in the rear view mirror. “Considering your particular circumstances.”

Clark’s chest tightens.

It shouldn’t feel like a romantic gesture, Lex filing lawsuits against their high school classmates on his behalf, but somehow, it does.

“Thanks, Mercy,” he says.  He takes a deep breath. “I appreciate you saying something.”

She nods, and that’s all either of them says for the rest of the ride.

 

* * *

 

Lex looks harried and surprised when Clark shows up at LexCorp Tower.  “Clark?”

“Yeah, uh, Mercy brought me.” Clark can tell immediately that something is wrong.  Lex is up to his elbows in paperwork. his sleeves pulled up and tie askew. “She said you wanted to see me?”

Lex’s eyes flash to Mercy, and he looks _angry_ for a moment.

“Was I wrong, Mister Luthor?” she asks, coolly.  It’s an unusual scene, Mercy seemingly going against Lex’s intentions.  

“I didn’t ask you to bring him,” Lex says, sharply.  “We’ll discuss this later, though.”

Mercy nods, and exits the office, graceful and determined.  

“Would you rather I left?” Clark doesn’t want to make this awkward, but part of him certainly wants to stay.  He hasn’t seen Lex in _disarray_ since they were teenagers.  So whatever this is, it seems important.

Lex exhales.  “No,” he admits.  “The worst part of having a personal assistant, is that she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Clark approaches the desk, finally.  “What’s bothering you?”

“The obvious, Clark.  The fact that certain persons in a certain town would like to smear Clark Kent’s name all over the gossip headlines.”  Lex turns around, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows onto Metropolis.

“Lex.”  Clark approaches even closer, moving around the desk to stand at alex’s shoulder. “People were going to figure it out eventually.  Either that you were sleeping with Superman, or that you were sleeping with Clark Kent. It...it was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

Lex tenses from their proximity.  “You should have had more control over this flow of information,” he insists, and sounds legitimately angry about it.  “We kept this a secret for a reason.”

“Yeah, and then we went to the reunion together.  Pretty publicly.” Clark really doesn’t get why Lex is so upset.

“It still doesn’t excuse the breach of privacy.  You have more need of it than most.”

Clark feels frustration growing in his chest.  “Then why did we start this, Lex? Sure, maybe a one night stand, or a weeklong fling, we could probably hide that.  But you and I have been sleeping together for _three months_ , now.”

Lex turns and glares at him.  “Oh, so you’re blaming me, now?”

“No!  I’m just saying, if you wanted to end this before people got suspicious, then  maybe you’re a month or two too late!” Clark steps away, retreating to Lex’s desk.  “It’s not worth — it’s not worth all of this.”

“...Maybe you’re right.”  Lex’s voice has gone very level.  “Could you please leave? I have work to do.”

Clark nods, and wonders, now, if they just had their first fight in this relationship, or their last.  

Either way, he goes, just as he’s asked to.

 

* * *

 

A week goes by.  Then two. Then three.

 

* * *

 

It’s been nearly a month since they’ve been alone together.  Superman and Lex Luthor still fight side by side a few times, but Clark Kent hasn’t seen Lex in three weeks, and neither Superman nor Clark Kent has had the privilege of Lex’s bed.

Clark’s pretty sure they’ve broken up.  He’s not sure if what they had was a relationship, but he can tell it’s over now.

He thinks it should be a relief.  One less complication in his complicated life.  

But it’s not.  He was in too deep from the jump, got too attached to Lex and his touch and the sensation of waking up to him, even if it was just in hotel rooms only Lex could possibly afford.

He tries to push through it, even when looking at the man hurts a little.  

But there’s nothing he can do.  When Lex makes his mind up, he makes his mind up, and clearly, he’s done with Clark.

So, Clark isn’t expecting it when Lex _breaks into his apartment,_ no.

Clark gets home, and Lex is in his apartment, the blinds open and the sunset gilding his skin from behind.  He's in shirtsleeves, shirt half-unbuttoned.

He's a vision, standing there in the dying light of the day, and Clark _wants._

From the way Lex is looking at him, Lex wants, too, but Clark isn't sure _what_ Lex wants.  To get back together?  Or just one more roll in the hay?  Clark can't tell.

“Get over here, Kent,” Lex says, and Clark hates that he obeys without thought.

Lex asks, and Clark’s body just responds.  It’s a little humiliating, honestly, given the circumstances.

As soon as he’s in arm’s reach, Lex drags him closer — well, he grabs Clark’s arm, and when he pulls, Clark moves with him.  Then, his mouth is on Clark’s and Clark can’t help himself.

He’ll just have to regret it in the morning.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Clark wakes up to Lex trying to squirm out from under his arm.  It isn’t working well for him, and he looks positively undignified as Clark looks at him from behind his eyelashes.  There’s a crease from the pillow in his cheek, and he’s flushed with exertion and irritation.

Clark isn’t awake enough to stop himself from laughing and pulling Lex closer, against his chest.

“Clark!” Lex snaps.  “Let me up.”

It shakes Clark back to the real world, and his arm immediately retracts.  “Oh. Sorry.”

Lex sits up.  “I’ve been shoving at your arm for about five minutes,” he says, his voice halfway to petulant.  “You sleep like the _dead_.”

“...Are you leaving?”  It’s not what he meant to say, but it’s what he says.

“I have places to _be_ , Clark.” Lex gets out of bed, clearly searching out his clothes.  “And it’s not as though you _don’t_.”

Clark flinches.  “Okay, well. D’you want anything, before you go?”

He doesn’t mean to keep Lex, not when he has no idea what’s really going on between them, and it’s too early in the morning to ask those questions.  How early is it? He’s not sure, but it’s early, from the angle of the sun through the window.

“No.”

“Okay.”  He wants to ask, wants to know why Lex showed up last night, unasked for.

He doesn’t, though, just sits up and watches Lex dress.  He should ask. He should make Lex explain himself, figure out what the hell is happening.

But he’s so damn tired of fighting, and really, this is better than nothing.

As Lex heads for the door, though, Clark gets up.  “Uh -- if you want to come back tonight,” he says, feeling painfully self-conscious, “just...call, first?”

Lex’s expression is shuttered like an empty house.  He says nothing, just watches Clark for a moment, and then he walks away.

Clark hasn’t felt this bad after sex before, ever.  

It’s embarrassing, but he listens through the sounds of the city, tracking Lex’s heartbeat for at least a few miles before forcing himself to stop.

“Damnit,” he mumbles.  

The worst part?

He’s not even sure whose fault this is.

 

* * *

 

Clark doesn’t get asked to cover LexCorp events anymore.  He gets why — everyone either suspects or outright knows part of the conflict of interest inherent there.

But he can’t help but see his one good three-piece suit hanging in his closet and feel a hot little burst of shame and longing.  He used to be able to go to Lex’s events, even back before Lex became an antihero, and while Clark can never really be part of Lex’s world, he sometimes enjoyed the glimpses he got of it in those glittering, immaculate nights.

He knows Lex is having a fundraiser tonight.  He doesn’t remember for what.

Superman could crash the party.  Lex’s smile would turn brittle, but he wouldn’t make him leave, and that in and of itself is why Clark doesn’t go.

He lays down in his own bed alone instead, half-dressed and lonely.

It’s about half an hour before his hand finds his cell phone.  Five minutes after that, he’s sent a single text message:

_How’s the party going?_

Ten minutes later, he gets a message back: _As these parties normally go._

He’s honestly surprised Mercy answered him.  He responds, because he guesses he’s in too deep now not to be honest: _How is he?_

 _Same as ever,_ comes the response, and then a second one: _You should text him, Mr. Kent._

That throws him for a loop.  But, he listens to her, because Mercy is always right, at least when it comes down to Lex, and Clark trusts her experiences, sometimes, even more than he does his own.

He taps the message out to Lex, and sends it before he can convince himself not to: _Should Superman make an appearance, tonight?_

Three minutes later, Lex responds.   _Excuse me?_

 _At your party.  You used to say Superman showing up at those things made them more successful._ Clark closes his eyes, not sure why he even decided to open with that, really.

His phone buzzes.   _You’ve never offered before._

He has to be honest, and just a little selfish: _I want to see you._

Lex doesn’t respond.  Five, ten, fifteen minutes.  Then, an hour. Then two. The clock nears midnight.

Clark swallows.  He knows an answer when he gets one, really.  

But he can’t sleep, part of him still clinging to a misspent hope that Lex _will_ respond, that this whole thing is almost as painful for Lex as it is for Clark.

That Lex might _care_ , really.  That’s all Clark wants to hear.

Midnight passes.  Still nothing. Clark turns out his bedside lamp and swallows down his heartache, the latter for about the millionth time.

Five minutes of staring into the dark of his bedroom in silence are broken by his phone ringing.

He stares in shock at the phone, almost missing the call, but he manages to pick up before it goes to voicemail.  “Lex?”

 _“Fuck_ you, Clark,” Lex says, quietly, but with intense feeling.  “Really, absolutely and completely, _fuck you._ ”  He sounds like he’s been simmering all night, and he must have been.  Lex has never been one much for profanity, after all.

Clark doesn’t know what to say.  He takes a breath. “Sorry?”

“ _Fuck you._ ”

Lex hangs up, and Clark swallows, wondering what, exactly, he did wrong.

 

* * *

 

It starts to bleed into their work with the League.  

They still have each other’s backs, of course, but Lex has gotten curt and snippy, and Clark can’t push down all the emotional stress deep enough to hide it.  And people are noticing the way that they aren’t so well matched anymore.

Of course, Bruce is the one to say something about it.  

He pulls Clark aside after a League post-mission debrief.  Clark has a feeling he knows exactly what Bruce wants to talk about, and sure enough, he’s right:

“You need to figure out what to do about Luthor.”

Clark exhales.  “I know. He’s...I don’t think you want to really know the details.”

“No, I don’t.”  Bruce raises an eyebrow.  “But whatever’s going on between you, it _can’t_ affect your work in the field.  You know that, he knows that, but I don’t expect him to recognize or accept that.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”  Another sigh. “You should take Lois for coffee, she’s needed someone to vent to about this.”

Bruce chuckles, just a tiny bit.

 

* * *

 

 

He calls Mercy.  He is almost desperately grateful when she picks up.  “Mr. Kent?”

“Hey, Mercy,” he says, already apologetic.  “Lex’s birthday is coming up.”

“It is,” she agrees.  “Are you planning something?”

Clark takes a breath.  “I have an idea. But I’m going to need your help to make it work right.”  It’s a stupid idea, really, absolutely stupid.

But he’s going to do it anyway.

 

* * *

 

He leaves the lead box on Lex’s desk, and he’s dressed in civilian clothes as he waits for Lex to enter the room and notice him.

Lex does, and stills for a moment when he sees him.  

“Hey.  Uh, Mercy let me in.”

“Of course she did.”  Ice in his voice, and then he notices the box on his desk.  “What is _that_?”

Clark shifts, awkward.  “I wanted to do something for your birthday.  Mercy helped.” He exhales. “I hope — I hope you like it.”  He sounds childish, even to his own ears, and he hates it.

Lex unclasps the closure to the box and opens it without picking it up off the desk.  A sickly green glow lights his face from beneath as he curves to look into the box, and Clark can see his eyes widen in surprise.

Clark’s skin crawls, even with that small and amount of Kryptonite, even halfway across the room.

It gets worse when Lex lifts the gift out of the box: a finely carved figurine of a horse rearing up on its hind legs, made from a block of pure Kryptonite.  Clark hasn’t seen it ‘til now, but he’s glad it turned out well.

Lex swings around and stares at him.  “Are you stupid?”

It’s...not the reaction he had hoped for, to stay the least.  He flushes, even as he feels a little nausea flow through him.  “Maybe.”

“You’re giving _me_ Kryptonite.” Lex looks at him dubiously.

“It’s supposed to be Bucephalus.”  God, he shouldn’t have done it. He really shouldn’t have.

Lex almost drops the figurine.  “You remember Bucephalus?”

Bucephalus had been Lex’s horse -- named after Alexander the Great’s famous warhorse.  Lex had _adored_ the animal, when they were teenagers in Smallville.

And then, during a freak thunderstorm, Bucephalus had panicked and ran into a ditch, breaking two legs.  As a result, the horse had to be put down, and Lex had been desolate for weeks -- and never, to Clark’s knowledge, ridden a horse again.

“Of course,” he says, smiling just a little.  “I thought -- I thought you might like it.”

Lex places the figurine back in the box.  “You had a figurine made of my childhood horse, out of one of the few things that can harm you, and you’re giving it to me...for my birthday?”

Clark nods.  “Yeah, basically.”

“You really are incredibly stupid,” Lex says, taking a careful step toward him, the box still on the desk.  

Clark shrugs, a little nervous.  “I mean, Lois would agree with you, so.”

“And Batman, I’m sure.”

“Er, yeah.  So. I haven’t told either of them about it.”  Clark takes a step toward Lex, even as another wave of nausea rolls over him.  “It’s just for you.”

Lex freezes.  “I really don’t understand you.”

Clark smiles, just a tiny bit.  “Yeah, well. I’m...not great at understanding you, either.”

“Obviously.”  Lex cocks his head to the side.  “What is this really about?”

The smile drops off of Clark’s face.  He looks away for a moment. “I...I miss you, okay?  I don’t know what the hell we were doing, but I miss it.  And I thought, maybe...maybe if I could prove I trust you…”

Lex has, after all, always appreciated symbolism, and grand gestures.

“You _trust_ me?”

Clark nods.  “I do. I thought the figurine made that clear.  I don’t — I don’t believe you want to hurt me.”

Lex is silent, and there’s something conflicted in his eyes.  

This has been the problem — neither of them can really communicate about what’s between them.  Not clearly, and certainly not verbally. They blunder from act to act instead, falling into each other and then falling apart again.

 _I love you_ hangs on the tip of Clark’s tongue, but he can’t say it.  

Because even if Lex _does_ love him back, Clark knows full well that the man won’t be able to _say_ it.  It would be cruel to try and make him.

“I don’t want your trust,” Lex says, walking toward Clark.  

“Well, tough.  You have it.” Clark stays where he is, a little sick from the Kryptonite in the open box, waiting for Lex to do something.  “I’m not taking the figurine back.”

Lex draws up to him, a hair too close for comfort, for anything except kissing, and Clark wonders if that’s what this is building up to: them, in bed together again, with absolutely nothing resolved.  “Then I’ll give it to Lane, or Batman. And _then_ you’ll be in trouble.”

“That’s — isn’t that a little childish?”

“You’re the one saying sorry with a birthday present, Kent.”  Lex turns away and stalks to the window.

Clark pauses.  “Wait — is this still about the reunion?”

“I wanted to do _one_ nice thing for you, and you shut me down.”  Lex is tense, and Clark can’t help walking over to him.  “If you don’t want me protecting you, don’t give me something to protect you from.”

“Lex,” Clark says, reaching out to tug Lex’s shoulder, to get him to face him.  “I — I just didn’t think...it didn’t seem necessary to sue people, that’s all.”

Lex pulls his shoulder away.  “You said it wasn’t worth it. That those three months weren’t worth it.”

Clark’s heart threatens to crack in his chest.  “It wasn’t worth _litigation_ ,” he says, quietly.  “I didn’t mean that it wasn’t worth it in general, Lex.  I — I didn’t _want_ to stop seeing you, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”  Lex’s voice is brittle again.

Clark sighs.  “Well, I’m sorry.  And if — if you want to try again, you know how to get in touch.”

He’s too upset to deal with this right now, too full of self-recriminations.  He needs time to think. So, he turns and walks out of Lex’s office, hopefully not for the last time.

 

* * *

 

Lex doesn’t contact him.  Clark isn’t sure if that’s what he expected, but it’s not what he _wanted_ , so he does feel disappointed about it.

Then, two weeks into August, about three weeks out from the disastrous birthday present, Clark comes to work to another hushed set of stares from his coworkers.  When he reaches his desk, there’s a single white flower that Clark can’t identify, as well as a notecard he does: it’s part of Lex’s personalized stationery, with _L.L._ monogrammed into the corner.  Written on it is this:

_It’s white hellebore.  I thought it might be worth a fair exchange for my birthday gift._

Inscribed beneath are an address and a time.  

He really doesn’t know what to say, so he puts the card and the flower in his desk drawer, and decides he needs to do a little research.  


He shows up at the address and the time on the card; it’s an empty warehouse, and he can see Lex and Mercy standing on the roof.  

When he reaches the roof himself, Mercy makes herself scarce, leaving them alone.

“You gave me a poisonous plant for your birthday?” Clark asks, cocking his head to the side.

Lex looks serene.  “It’s _Veratrum album,_ the flower that may have killed Alexander the Great.  I though, given what you gave me, it was a reasonable response.”

Clark’s chest tightens.  “An eye for an eye.”

“Yes.”

Clark approaches him.  “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Neither did you.”

But they both did, and what does that say about them?  Is it an acknowledgment of the relationship that was, or one that is?

He reaches out and pulls Lex toward him.  “So, I guess we’re even, now?”

“Maybe.”  Lex is watching him, waiting for something.

So Clark kisses him.

It’s as familiar as a hundred other kisses have been, and Clark wraps his arm gently around Lex’s waist before he pulls away.  Lex chases his mouth, and Clark can’t help it: he laughs a little at that.

Lex’s eyes snap open, and he looks offended.  “Clark,” he says, warningly.

“I know, I know,” Clark says, but he can’t stop grinning.

It’s not all fixed, not by a long shot, but the glimmer of mischief in Lex’s eye as they look at each other at least means it’s all _fixable._

They don’t need words to prove _that._

 

* * *

 

“So, do people still think we’re dating?” Clark asks, from the back of the limousine.  “Or will they be surprised?”

Lex huffs, mock offended.  “‘Dating’ is so...pedestrian.”  

Clark grins at him.  “Well, I mean, I feel like ‘lover’ is a little old fashioned, don’t you?”

“It’s probably truer to form, though,” Lex points out, leaning over to pull Clark into a firm kiss, one of the deep, intoxicating ones.

When he pulls back, he’s smirking, and Clark can’t help but smirk back.

The limo is slowing to a stop, and Clark can hear the crowd of society and entertainment reporters outside, see the flashing lights through the tinted windows.  The moment of truth has arrived.

For once in his life, he feels ready for it.

He smiles at Lex, the limousine stopping.  There’s something wicked in the other man’s eyes, but Clark doesn’t care — right now, this is all he wants, and he wants to see how far Lex is willing to go.

He isn’t disappointed:

Lex pulls him into another kiss by his tie, just as the driver opens the door, and the crowd begins to roar.


End file.
